


Oedipus

by Anonymous



Series: Imperium [1]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Impregnation, Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave!Leia, Slavery, implied impregnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Originally, Kylo only arrives for negotiations with Jabba the Hutt. He gets so much more than he ever could have expected.





	Oedipus

**Author's Note:**

> So what if Jabba had survived and had gotten his...hands? On Leia after the rebellion failed? And what if Kylo came across Jabba? Yeah, a lot of what-if's and basically this is an AU.  
> But let's keep it real, if you clicked this fic, you only came here to read about Kylo fucking his own mother, so have at it.

It will, of course, be an utter waste of time. Even in his cruiser, it will take him too long to get to the Hutt’s home planet, not even to think of how long he will have to stay there! 

The order had been very clear on that: he was only to leave once he had gotten Jabba’s agreement in a contract, and he was to make sure that contract stuck. Going by how, apparently, Jabba dealt his contracts, that would not only be a monumental job, but also be…distasteful. Most likely there will be prostitutes, Kylo has no doubt. It is the easiest way, so Jabba will try it, and most likely have them try to sway him, soften him up, so he may slacken on the contract negotiations.

Kylo will not disappoint Lord Snoke.

He knows what Snoke expects of the contract, what said negotiations need to ensure – the Hutt is only a mean to an end: to extinguish any leftover resistance members. They may have won and destroyed the resistance, each and every battle squashing more and more remains of the resistance. It is good. It is necessary. 

But even in the won battles, resistance members have managed to weasel away – and slip under the radars, regrouping, guerrilla attacking the Empire. And so far, they have managed to escape, even under the strongest surveillance and control.

Other options must be pursued, if the so-far known fails to procure results, Snoke had said. And so it would be.

Negotiating a pact with someone who is skirting the illegal side of dealings wakens too many memories of his f- wakens too many bad feelings about the lawfulness of it all, but Snoke had promised that the Hutt would be taken care of, once the bigger issues were solved.

The resistance needed to be vanquished, once and for all, so the Empire could live freely.

If only that wouldn’t require Kylo to negotiate with a Hutt. 

Oh, of course he could have kept quiet and have Hux go – the General had wanted to, Kylo had seen him perk up…as much as that…person did perk up. As if he’d enjoy a mission like that, for whatever hare-brained reason. 

And that alone – Hux enjoying this mission – was enough for Kylo to apply for it. Anything, if it meant that Hux would be stuck in space, full well knowing that Kylo had gotten what he wanted. Especially after the last battle where it had been Kylo who’d wanted to deliver the final blow, just to have Hux steal it from right under his nose! And that had not been the first time, either, Hux always waiting for the slightest mishap Kylo made, keeping him perpetually on his toes. 

Paybacks like these were the sweetest, especially when he’d seen Hux’ face at Snoke’s command that Kylo was to take out these negotiations. 

That made staying for some time at a Hutt’s home planet and dealing with too many prostitutes for his taste almost worth it. Almost.

The welcome is, of course, as he had expected it: dripping in riches, noisy, boisterous. Nothing of what he’d like and everything he dislikes. As such it confirmes his assumptions – but at least the mask covers his face. No one can see his face and the expression he surely must carry.

When he speaks, he makes sure to keep his voice level and neutral. The greetings are carried out with utmost respect – he has read up on Hutts and negotiations. This mission will not, must not fail due to him being too proud; Snoke might expect him to. Hux definitely does. Kylo will prove them wrong, both of them, and the success of this will all be his, his alone.

This makes respectfully bowing to Hutt and only conversing via a translator easier. The translator is as slimy as Jabba and twice as bad, because his double-crossed words are understandable.

“Master Jabba”, the translator says, “has prepared a celebration for this special occasion.”

What this means, he does not add, but Kylo is not stupid, he can read between the lines. Participating in this celebration is mandatory, and anything else would be a terrible affront. And seeing as he is not entirely sure what kind of celebration this is, he is careful and keeps his attention. 

So he follows he Hutt, memorizing the path in case anything goes wrong. And it might: alcohol flows freely, and going by the way some aliens stumble, their minds warped and twirling in the Force, it is not just alcohol which is flowing freely tonight.

Kylo makes sure to take rare sips, even if he did become thirsty tonight. Considering he has to open a latch in his mask whenever he wants to drink or eat, it is easier – and Jabba does not expect him to, surely. Most likely, this will be a display of power tonight, something to show off, to either prove Jabba’s importance or power. Or Jabba will use it to impress him, to tilt the negotiations in his favour.

Whatever it will be, Kylo is prepared.

As such, he is not surprised by the endless row of scantily-clad aliens on display. Jabba really does try to tempt him, parading aliens of every taste around, all of them so very naked and so, so very obedient. 

None of them leaves anything but a faint whisper in the force, their life power quenched by whatever Jabba put them through to keep them as obedient as they were. 

When the soft, supple curves do not have him react, do not have him hesitate nor stare, Jabba orders a different kind of slaves: harsher lines, less curves and more muscles, stronger. Still as arousing, as luring, as tempting. 

Just as empty, boring, void as the last batch. 

Kylo does look at them, because they are, apparently the entertainment. And they are entertaining: they are well trained, and quite the feast for eyes. Erotic, too, some of them. But if Jabba thinks this to be enough to draw attention, to distract him – this will be all to easy for Kylo to win. The negotiations will go in his favour, surely, if this is the best Jabba can draw.

Kylo is so, so sure, until –

Until the translator stands, demanding silence.

A hush falls over the room, and Kylo’s heart picks up a notch, his grip wandering to his light sabre. Just to be sure. One could not be sure enough, in a hole like this, surrounded by no one he’d trust with his back.

“After all the – delicacies Master Jabba has prepared –“, loud cheering and clapping interrupted the translator, and Jabba nodded generously at them, bowing as much as he could, quite obviously bathing in the applause.

“- Master Jabba has also prepared a special one, in the light of our visitor.”

All eyes trained on him, Kylo can feel himself tense. But the Force is still, not a single shiver, nothing to tip him off of anything. He ought to be safe, for the moment. The attention, however, still sits wrong with him, and he’d rather not be the focus of attention. Especially if being the centre of attention means Jabba staring at him.

And that cannot be a good sign; surely the Hutt must be sure to have him on a leash if he is staring as he is.

Yet, Kylo cannot look away; it might be an insult. 

So he keeps on looking and tries to project unruffled calmness, even when Jabba has the next slaves called out.

Or, no. Slave. Singular.

A woman.

And when she steps onto the stage, Kylo’s heart drops to his knees.

Uproaring, thundering applause and whistling shrills in his ears, loud enough to almost drown out the translator:

“Master Jabba was gracious enough to ensure a very special slave tonight: the Resistance’s General! Leia Organa!”

There’s a ringing in Kylo’s ears, and the world seems very far away as he looks at her. Stares at her.

She is, as the other slaves were, only scantily clad: a bikini, some strips of fabric. She is older than them, of course, but she – she – she looks good. Her hair is intricately braided, and –

Kylo tries not to – to – stare, at her. See her as –

But he can’t.

She’s there, she’s right in front of him, thick collar around her throat, and she’s almost naked. 

Kylo swallows, eyes tracing the gentle curve of her breasts. Her breasts. Clad in nothing but a bronzen bra, the cups raising her breasts gently. So supple, soft. And her – the – the bikini. Lower. He – 

He bites his lips, suddenly so terribly glad for how he’s wearing a mask and Jabba unable to see how he is – reacting to this view.

The lower bikini parts are barely more that underwear, covered by some broad fabric strips falling down her legs. She is, for all purposes, naked: her legs are uncovered, the fabric between her lines.

She is naked, except for how she isn’t, and it’s a temptation. 

He tries not to stare at her, and fails.

“The Rebellion’s General, graciously provided by Master Jabba!”

Thick applause answers the translator. Kylo forces himself not to applaud as well, but it is very difficult.

They think she’s just the general, but he, oh, he knows better. 

His cock twitches.

Jabba utters a harsh order, and before the translator can do his work, she starts dancing.

And what a dance it is.

Low, sultry, she shimmies her hips, gently swaying with the music. She is power, Force incarnated, a force of nature, she is all of that, and Kylo is helplessly staring at her. Her age is nowhere visible, not even just once: she moves like she is timeless, uncaught. 

Greedily, he stares at her, the way she moves, free like a bird except for how she isn’t: the collar and her thin clothes keeping her very much caught. 

She is, beyond everything, attractive. And tempting.

His mother.

She is that, too, but in this moment, Kylo cannot see his mother. Does not see her as such.

Instead he sees his fantasies, all dragged to light, all aired out, in public, for everyone to see: what he has jerked off to. The darkest fantasies, the thoughts he’d rather die than admit to anyone. The shameful secrets. 

The stares he’d stolen, as a child, before he’d known desire, before he’d known power, before he’d known anything but the sweet, careless life of a child:

Leia, bathing, towels slung around her, water dripping down her shoulders.

The same shoulders she now swayed in the music, a thin bra strap dipping low, just so spreading wide to cover her breasts.

Leia, gasping, as his father kissed her, stole her away, from her job and the resistance, but most importantly him.

The way she now danced, and his father could not steal her, could never steal her again, because no one had known she was here but she was, she was, she was –

Leia, her moan. Once. Just once he had seen them too: as a boy, he hadn’t known. A coincidence. But he’d seen, once. Sometimes, later, he had only heard, but once, he’d seen: her face, eyes closed, mouth opened, blissed out. His father, grunting. But most importantly: her, caught, blissed. 

And her face now is – not quite there. She should leave traces in the Force, has left them ever since he could remember, but now she didn’t, but it was her, it was, he was sure. He knew her.

His mother.

She was here, it was her.

And he couldn’t take her, couldn’t steal her away, and – 

Did Jabba know? Did he know who she was, who she was in relation to him? Or did he just think her to be the rebellion’s general? Oh, she was, but she was so much more. So, so much more. To him.

But he couldn’t ask. Asking would give away too much, would raise too much attention; something he could not afford in this delicate part of negotiations. Especially not as he knew Jabba to be observant and clever and tricky: this contract needed to be done. 

So he kept to himself, just looking at her. And she was gorgeous. Kylo wanted to touch her, wanted her for himself, only him and no one else: her legs, and he wanted them wrapped around his head, hadn’t he always wanted to? Wanted her for himself and want this, too? Wanted what he shouldn’t, not as he was, not as she was, not as they were to eachother? But he’d still wanted. 

Her, his mother.

He, the son.

He wanted. 

Her taste, on his lips. The swell of her ass, the valley of her pussy. Wanted to taste her, wanted to – have her come, on his lips and fingers, until she begged him. Kiss higher. Her breasts. The supple curve of it, untainted by her age, still plump, soft. Suck her nipples, like he hadn’t since he was a small boy. Sucking her dry, and then: kissing higher, kissing her, her mouth – 

She was –

He hadn’t ever confessed this, not even to himself.

But now, now she was here, and she was…she was on display, just barely covered but so tempting. Sometimes, if she moved – if she moved just so, he could see the faint shadow of a nipple, nothing more but a faint wish, but it was there, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek against how much he wanted to.

Wanted to peel her out of this shameful dress-up, and suckle her nipples in his mouth, until she whimpered, until she squirmed for him, until she begged: until she could not remember anyone else but him, until she was his, his alone, no one else, only him, and she’d never go, never ever again, only his, his, his.

But she wasn’t.

She was…just a slave. An entertainment. 

For everyone but him.

He drank her in, the long lines of her legs, the curves of her hips, her body: she was no young girl anymore, and that exactly made her so tempting.

If Kylo could, he would steal her away, would do it in a heartbeat. And if she’d been anywhere else in the galaxy, he would have. Snoke could rage as much as he wanted to: he would have, and it would have worked out.

But this was a mission. He was here on a mission, and Jabba would not be overwhelmed. That would not do. He couldn’t. He mustn’t. 

But it was her.

It was Leia. His mother.

He wanted.

And the longer she danced, low and sultry, he wanted her. Wanted her more and more, wanted to pull her against his chest, wanted to touch her, wanted to know her, her tastes, her body, how she’d feel. 

Wanted her like he’d never allow himself to want until this very moment, because until then, she’d been his mother, and only that. Never had he allowed himself the shameful fantasy –

Until said shameful fantasy had been presented to him, by coincidence.

And it was all he would ever get of her, while she would be dragged off, to be sold to the highest bidder, and they, all of them, would get her. Would get her sweet moans, her whimpers, her trembling thighs, her clenching, the sweet taste of her pussy –

And he wouldn’t.

He emptied his drink.

*

“Master Ren”, the translator gently stops his gearing up to settle down for the night.

“Master Jabba has prepared a gift for you.”, he says, wicked and too-lewd grin on his face.

Kylo internally winces, because he has a fair idea of what this “gift” entails. Tonight, he has no patience for a prostitute…but he is frustrated. Maybe they will be able to take off the edge. Hopefully. 

Entertaining a prostitute may be an option. Surely it will be better than nothing – with the added benefit of humouring Jabba as well. 

Denying a gift would be an insult, for sure, so Kylo cannot risk it.

So he nods, and the translator grins, openly, showing his teeth.

“Master Jabba hopes it is to your wishes.”

That’s…not comforting. Not at all.

Kylo simply nods and decides to withdraw for the night. Going by that grin, whatever will wait for him, it may be everything between an assassin and a slave, and he is not too keen to find out.

*

His room is lavish…and empty. It smells faintly of incense.

He gently feels the Force for any disturbances, but it does not tell him anything beyond the faint impression that there is Someone waiting for him. That may be everyone and anyone.

Casually, he lowers his hands to his light sabre, easy within reach, should anything happen. His heart is ready to jolt out of his chest as he steps into the central room.

The bed is on his right side, too big and too luxurious, and he checks it first, almost expecting a half-naked slave lying in it.

As such, it takes him the fraction of a second to turn his head and look to his left. And when he does, he –

Stares.

It is. It is her.

He drops his hands and stares, because.

It is her. She. She is here.

Close like this, she is alluring. 

She is wearing the bronze bikini, and like this, he can see the faint wrinkles in her face; the way her body is not lithe and tight like a young one.

She is in his rooms.

“Master Ren”, she says and lowers her head.

Somehow, he expects the Force to cry out, to scream for foul play, anything, anything at all.

His mother is bowing to him, as if she doesn’t recognize him. As if she does not recognize him, this uniform – but she should, she should, why doesn’t she –

With a hiss, he clicks his helmet open, taking it off. Daring his mother to recognize him. To twist her face into rage, hatred, disgust. At him. At the helmet. At who he is, as a Sith. 

At him, standing in his rooms, with her as his slave.

But her eyes stay neutral, her body relaxed. Waiting for him. 

Like a slave.

She is waiting for him.

She is his, tonight. His alone. She was given to him, him alone, no one else, she is his. 

He drops the helmet and closes the distance between them.

His mother is here, and she won’t go away, won’t abandon him, won’t leave.

He kisses her, desperately, lips harsh against her. She makes a choked-off noise, arms raising as if to push him off – but her training must kick in, for she lowers them again, keeping her lips soft and pliant.

Almost, he groans against her. But as it is, he just licks into her mouth, and when she opens her lips, he kisses her, deeply, and her tongue matches his, she kisses him, she kisses him like she’s never done, like she never would, like she’d never ever allow him to kiss her if she had any wit on her, but she doesn’t, so she – returns his kiss. And she kisses him like she wants him as much as he wants her. 

She is here, in his arms. She won’t leave.

He breaks up the kiss, looking at her. Her lips are flushed. Because of him. He did that. So he sucks her lower lip in, almost gently, only to kiss her again, his tongue meeting hers, and if he could, he’d crawl into her.

He cups her head, her neck; her braid is tickling him. She’s smaller than him, and almost naked. By every logic, she should be less powerful than him, who has only uncovered his head. It does not feel this way, at all. If anything, she is powerful: luring him in, nulling his power.

He gasps something against her lips, wet, nonsensical, and steps back. Of course he wants to keep kissing her, but – she is his, for this night, and he must make the most of it: whatever this spell is, he does not know how long it will keep, or if it will keep at all. What if she will snap out of it? 

So it is necessary that he will take the most of it, as tempting as it all is, as much as he can, playing out the worst and most of his fantasies, even the ones he has never allowed himself, even though he’s had them since the early days of his puberty.

He looks at her, her body, and he wants her in a million ways. Too many to count, and he wants them all with equal force, how to decide –

“Bed”, he orders, and she is.

She is so obedient, she is nothing like he remembers his mother, she is nothing like his mother, except for the looks. But she is. The Force would not lie. And the Force confirms: she is who he thinks she is, she is his mother.

And she is crawling on the bed, lying down. Waiting for him. Waiting for him to join her as a lover.

He does.

Drops to his knees and climbs on top of her, kissing her again, memorizing the taste of her. This, he will do a lot tonight, remembering how she tastes where, how she will react.

She stretches up against his lips, like a flower dying with thirst. He licks into her mouth, and her tongue is wet and slick against his, as she kisses him like no mother ever would kiss her son. Except she does, and she wants it. She almost hums with it.

When he draws a breath, he almost can’t believe it. But she’s real. Under him. She is real. She really, really is.

His hands shake slightly as he takes off his gloves, to have a better grip.

And then, he opens the clasp of her bra. The metal makes a muffled noise as it drops against the bed covers.

She sighs and closes her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. She looks serene. Like a goddess.

Reverently, he lowers his mouth, almost hesitant to kiss her breasts, but when she turns her body slightly, almost pushing a nipple into his mouth, he sucks it. Kisses the nipple and sucks it into his mouth, fingers toying with the other nipple. Her taste is sweet, as he cups her breast, and it is – it is so much better than he ever could’ve dreamt of.

He wants to stay like this, breathing in her smell, one of her nipples in his mouth, suckling on her, playing with her other nipple. She sighs, again, and when he looks up, he can see a faint smile on her face. 

Does this feel good to her? Hopefully it does.

He slips the nipple from his mouth: it is slightly puffy and reddened. Onto the other nipple, who gets a similar treatment. 

He plays with her, cupping her breasts, sucking on her nipples, toying with them, rolling her plump nipples between his fingers. And he hoards her quiet noises, greedily, trying to find out what will draw which noises. She is so responsive.

He pinches her puffy nipples, and her responding moan is just the sweetest noise, so he sucks a hickey right between her breasts. Oh, she is so gorgeous like this. If only he could kiss her all over, kiss and lick and suck her until she only knew his mouth, until she was made for him, if only –

Her breasts are so lovely: nipples swollen, standing up, as if – he sucks them in, and she whimpers, writhes. He does know that no milk will come, but the thought alone – it might, it looks as if it might, and she is not too old, she could. There could be milk. She could nurse him.

But right now, there is no reason for her to have any, no matter how dark and puffy her nipples are.

He would be disappointed, if it wasn’t her under his greedy ministrations. As it is, he has her, and that is more than enough.

Almost reverently, his kisses down her body. Her belly. Yes, she is older, and softer in the body because of it, but her belly is still mostly flat. It’d be – he kisses her belly button. How would she feel? If she was? He has no sibling, doesn’t have any younger siblings: never has he seen his mother in the swellings of pregnancy. There are not even pictures of her pregnant with him.

He could. She could be. He rubs a hand on her belly, allowing himself this shameful fantasy too, as he is getting his fill of all of his fantasies now. He can dream, surely, even of the darkest ones.

And then, finally, he has reached his goal.

He snaps the fastenings of the last remaining fabric, and then, finally, she is naked. Roughly, he pulls the garment off of her, and then there she is, gloriously uncovered, all bare to his gaze.

Immediately, he stares at her.

She is wet.

But not enough. He wants her, and he wants her to remember this; even if she should wake from this, even if she would remember this: he needs her to be aroused, wet, dripping; to remember this, even if she’d quiver in humiliated shame: she has wanted this. Her body has wanted this, opening up under him. He needs to feel this, needs to taste it.

He spreads her legs, and almost obediently, she follows, puts them on his shoulders as his face is in front of her pussy.

She smells good, is the first thing he notices, and then he laps at her. At first, hesitatingly, but when she makes a choked-off noise, he becomes bolder and licks at her, wide laps. Teasing her. With the tip of his tongue, he draws along her pussy lips, draws numbers and nonsense against her, first with the tip of his tongue, then with the broad side of his tongue. Catalogues what makes her thighs quiver and what draws almost no reactions.

So he suckles at her, ignoring her clit, toying with her, teasing her. Licking the wetness from her, her sweet, sweet taste. She tastes like – like nothing he has ever tasted and ever will taste in his life. She is all he ever needed and all he ever needs, and he wants to stay like this: drink the moans from her, directly, the way her hands grab the bed covers and his hair, like she can’t help herself, like she needs him, needs him like she’s never needed anyone else.

And he keeps his tongue light, playful: she hasn’t come so far, and the longer he keeps this up, the more she drips. She’s wet, against his mouth, and he laps it up. Her pussy slowly swells, wet and flushed, so he kisses her clit and enjoys how she shivers against his mouth. 

She is the lover he has never had, not even during puberty, and none of his lovers he has had will measure up to her. No one ever will.

He kisses her pussy one last time – as much as he enjoys this, he wants more. Oh, if he had the certainty that he would get to have her longer, have more of her, he would stay like this, would stay like this for an eternity, and eat her out until her thighs were limp around his head, until she was melting against the bed, sweaty, blissed out. And then he’d lick and kiss her to one more orgasm, just because he could and she was there and she was accepting him –

But as it is, he doesn’t have the promise she will be his after this night, so he wants it all, wants another, wants her in all the ways he could have her.

She whimpers, so close yet without having come on his tongue and lips.

He squeezes a kiss against her hips, almost as if to say sorry, and slips her legs off of his shoulders.

Only then does he undress himself, keeping his gaze on her. Almost as if she’d slip from his life if he didn’t, as if she’d disappear, nothing but a dream.

She stays, and in her eyes, he can see want. She wants him. She. She wants him. His mother. She wants him. Him!

His fingers almost fly in taking off his clothes, and still it is half an eternity in taking off all of his uniform.

But when he is finally naked, gloriously and utterly naked, he drops on top of her, only catching himself at the latest moment. He knows how heavy he is, and he wants her to be comfortable.

She kisses him. She! She kisses him!

He groans against her, and her clever tongue slips into his mouth, and she kisses him like she’d die if she didn’t, so he grunts against her and rubs his cock against her thigh and it’s so, so good. He could come, rutting against her thigh. He could.

But he wants more.

Her mouth tastes so sweet, and he wants, wants, wants, wants too much to name, but he won’t have her forever, so he has to make the most of it.

So he gently spreads her legs, and she’s dripping, so, so wet, when he takes his cock and rubs the tip against her pussy. She makes a gentle noise, as if he’s pulled it from the depth of her.

And when he pushes in, she sighs, a blissed-out smile on her lips. 

She is, quite apparently, not in pain – the exact opposite, she’s enjoying it. She is enjoying him!

Greedily, he kisses her, their tongues playing with eachother as he thrusts deeper, and she is slick around him, relaxed, and when he bottoms out, she draws a deep breath, sighing, as if she’s – happy to have him like this, deep within her.

And he is.

Within his own mother.

It feels so good he could cry.

Like this, she’s his. She doesn’t – won’t, can’t – think of anyone else, ever. Not with how wet she is around him, the way she wraps her legs around him. She wants him, deeper, in her.

He rolls his hips against her, almost rutting against her – but no, that would be too harsh. Instead, he balances his weight on one arm and toys with her clit with the other arm. He needs her to enjoy this. He needs her to come on his dick. Even if he gets nothing but tonight, he needs to feel her come. Needs to feel and see and perhaps taste how she is like when she comes, writhing in orgasm. While his cock is firmly in her, and how will that feel?

His thumb is rubbing her clit as he rolls his hips against her – like this, he cannot fuck her as deeply as he wants to, and oh, doesn’t he just. If he could, he would fuck her, deeply, until every other cock she could’ve – no, must’ve had in her life will be driven from her memory, until all she remembers will be his, how he feels inside her.

But she won’t. Mere fucking will not stay in her memories. She will remember if it feels good.

So he finds out what will make her clench involuntarily around his cock, how he needs to flick his thumb against her clit, if it’s more of a circling or a rubbing, until she whimpers against him, soft, high-pitched noises –

And she clenches, around his cock, throbbing, pulsing –

He grins and sucks a hickey against her throat, heavy and intense and she moans, jerking against him, and she clenches harshly, and – comes, in a wordless moaning scream –

Gently, he kisses her, stopping his rubbing against her clit, and, well, if he stops kissing her to suck his fingers clean of her juices, who is he to say?

Especially seeing as she tastes so sweet, so good. If he could, he’d lick and suck the juices right from her pussy, until she was all clean, drinking down every single drop of her.

But he can’t. Not right now, at least. If he would have time, he would.

As it is, he can only pick up the rolling of his lips, listening to her quiet, muffled whimpers. She is too sensitive, after her orgasm. Oh, but what a sweet noise it is. She doesn’t complain, doesn’t make him stop. She just stays where she is: pinned under him and taking his cock so lovely.

He doesn’t toy with her clit – not so soon after her orgasm. But her nipples are fair game, so he sucks one of them in again as he fucks her. Still too gentle to make him come, but…

If he’s honest, he will come, no matter what. No use in lying, he will.

So he keeps rolling his hips, her wet pussy slick around him, and if he’s listening closely, he could swear he could hear the noises of his cock fucking into her.

Fuck, he wants to eat her out until she’s screaming. Until she’ll promise him the whole galaxy if only he won’t stop. Needs her to beg for his cock, only his, no one else’s.

And he kisses her, again, drunk on her lips, and it is –

It is too much –

He groans, against her, hips jerking –

And comes, in her.

And comes, and it is a century, a second – who knows? – until he can think again. His breath is wet against her lips. 

She combs through his hair and smiles, caught in bliss, too. Her legs are still firmly wrapped around his hips.

He returns her kisses, languidly as she is, until –

He needs to see.

As if sensing his needs, she unlocks her legs and he pulls out. Her pussy is flushed, fucked. She has been fucked well. On his cock. His. His alone.

Almost gently, he pushes in two fingers, and she draws in a short breath, almost a gasp. She is wet around his fingers, so he just lazily fucks her with it, enjoying her wetness. Whimpering and sighing answers every movement -

Until there’s a burst of wetness, and when he pulls out, there it is: 

His come.

He fucks in his fingers again, and out, and it stays where it is: it is his come, and when he spreads her lips, it slowly drips out of her. He – he really did come inside her, didn’t he? Inside his own mother. He did. And she came on his cock.

He smears his come across her mouth and greedily, she licks it up, sucking in his fingers. As if it is the best thing she has ever tasted.

If he could, he would fuck her again, and again, just to make sure she’d be full of it, oozing come – his come. As it is, she already is. Her fell-fucked pussy is already dripping his come. She is still flushed and wet and shiny from her own orgasm and his fucking and his orgasm. 

He kisses her mouth, puffy and raw too, and her cheeks, and she sighs, blissed out and tired.

It is too easy to lower himself, to lie down next to her and pull her into his arms. Finally. She is where he has always needed her to be: in his arms. And what has happened can never be forgotten again – he will not forget it again, never again, not as long as he lives. What he has had with his mother, it is ingrained in him.

So he stays, his mother in his arms, until she falls asleep. Only then does he allow himself to drift off, too.

*

“Master Jabba would like to give…a sign of his goodwill.”, the translator says, as if he knows what happened last night.

Kylo meets his gaze as calmly as he can: to the translator, the general, Leia, is just a slave. And Kylo did what anyone would do with a slave they had been eyeing – no one knows who she is. Who she is in relation to him.

So he just tilts his head, as if in agreement. Jabba must know that, while this sign is much appreciated, it will not tilt the negotiations in his favour. – And going by the belly-deep laughter from the Hutt, he does.

*

Kylo stays for a fortnight.

He fucks his mother for roughly that very same time, as soon as Jabba has given her to him.

And when the contract is signed and all is done, he is all too aware Jabba has made an excellent cut. As has he. The contract is a successful negotiation for all parties involved.

Jabba nods at him, and before it is all translated, Kylo knows.

The Force trills around him. And he knows.

*

As soon as he has programmed the route back home into his ship, he pulls his mother into his rooms.

“You are needed”, he croons, and she just nods.

And he has time, now. He has time for everything he hadn’t believe he’d have.

He spreads her legs and falls to his knees, her thighs around his head – until she whimpers and cries and is weak from the force of all her orgasms.

*

She comes on his lips and tongue and cock until her knees are jelly and tears prickle on her eyes. But he wants her, still. He wants her with a force that is stealing the breath of his lungs and makes him wrap his arms around her and kiss her.

*

He can feel it in the force.

Even before she knows. 

Before she even thinks of asking if anything is –

He knows.

She is sleeping as he puts one of his hands on her still-flat belly, and he does wonder how long it will be until she will show.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and i *might* have thought about a sequel where Kylo proudly displays his very pregnant mother as his partner, for everyone to see - and wonder how he turned the General into his mate. Ahem.
> 
> EDIT: This now very much is continued in a OS collection, simply follow the link to the series!


End file.
